Staring at the Sun
by LeonaWriter
Summary: AU for SoD.  The Master's aging function on his laser screwdriver malfunctions, leaving him with a Doctor whose memories all the way back to the age of 14 are locked away.  And sometimes, there are memories that are far too precious too taint.


Staring At The Sun

AN: AU as of the end of The Sound of Drums. For, uh, obvious reasons. Part of the brothers!verse, to make things more interesting (and have more sense). For ease of reading and understanding, all speech in Gallifreyan will be in italics. English within this will be normal typeface.

_All my dreams are built around this place, and your face. / All the times I'm staring at the sun, you're the one._

_I always thought that I would follow you/ Every place and everything you do-_ Amy MacDonald – L.A

...

The guards push the Doctor to the floor, and he glares up, helpless to do anything. Throughout this whole ordeal, he's been unable to do anything. He generally is, against the Master. Everyone has their weaknesses. You bring it up, you touch them there, and it hurts so much more than anything else you could have done.

"It's that sound, the sound in your head. What if I could help?"

It's an empty plea, and he knows it. There's a double train-track of memory leading back from before Malcassairo and the misinformed, self-defeating journey to Utopia. In one, it was the first time he'd ever heard of there being any noise in the other Time Lord's head at all. In the other, he'd simply never listened. He didn't know quite which was worse.

"Oh, how to shut him up? I know. Memory lane!" The Master sat on the steps in front of the Doctor, knees up and arms on his legs, childishly. He could afford to. "Professor Lazarus. Remember him? And his genetic manipulation device?"

The Doctor remembered, and thought himself a fool. All of those designs, they'd had the Master's hand all over them. He'd allowed certainty to blind him.

"Did you think that little Tish got that job merely by coincidence? I've been laying traps for you all this time."

Just like always, how it used to be. The Doctor's hearts hurt, he missed those old times so much.

"And if I can concentrate all that Lazarus technology into one little screwdriver... But, ooh, if I only had the Doctor's biological code. Oh, wait a minute, I do!" The Doctor could only look on in horror as the Master bounded over to where there was an innocuous-looking silver box case on a table, and he felt like he knew what was inside even before the Master opened it. "I've got his hand! And if Lazarus made himself younger, what if I reverse it? Another hundred years?"

He could see the flawed logic in this already. Lazarus' experiment had only been a number of days ago for the Master, judging by the fact that the other Time Lord had been stuck on Earth's linear time for approximately eighteen months, by his earlier reckoning.

And unless the Master had allowed Lazarus to use faulty technology – plausible, entirely plausible, it wasn't as though he'd care about a few humans here or there, only his own image and ego – then there were likely still several kinks in the works.

All of this passed through the Doctor's mind in a single heartsbeat. He opened his mouth to say something, warn someone, _plead_, even, for the Master to think for once –

But by then the laser screwdriver was already aimed at him, and the words in his throat died and turned into screams.

... ... ... ...

They knew something was going wrong when the screwdriver started to spark and whine. Whine, as in to complain and bemoan against unfair usage, almost, as this was completely different in far too many ways to the sounds that it had previously made – killing Jack, for instance, it had not sounded like this at all.

The Master was the first to react, turning off the laser and screaming in a fit of frustration, but the setting had been put to one hundred years, and even that short time had been enough to do what, obviously to all, was a lot of damage.

Everyone was staring, in tense, shocked silence. The Master had seemed to be in control of _everything_ up until that one moment, and he was still dangerous, maybe far more dangerous now than he had been. No one dared say a _thing_.

The Doctor's clothes were loose on him, falling off in odd places. For a long, long time, it seemed like he wasn't moving, wasn't breathing, like something had gone wrong and the Doctor had aged too far, or even worse.

Martha moved, to go to the Doctor, see if he was all right, be there for him, anything, really, just so that she could feel useful while the Master wasn't paying them enough attention, cursing at his laser screwdriver. Jack had a hold of her arm, however, and gave her a subtle shake of his head.

Which was probably for the best, really. That small distraction was long enough for the pile of clothes to start moving, at first by a little, and then by increments a sleeve that was too large for the arm it covered went up to where one might consider a head to be.

First, there was an unintelligible groan. Almost as though he'd been woken from a deep sleep and hadn't woken up yet properly, except with an aftertaste of pain still lingering in his voice. His much _younger_ voice.

Then, there were words. Not that many, if any, could understand them.

"_What's – what's going on?_"

Martha looked to Jack – now cautiously sitting up off of the floor – in confusion, and Jack merely shrugged back, understanding as little as she did.

The Master, meanwhile, had started to stare at the bundle of oversized clothes and mop of brown hair in what looked suspiciously like horror, frozen to the spot and laser screwdriver almost forgotten in his hand, still sparking occasionally.

"Doctor?" Martha half-whispered, half called over, wary of being noticed. "Doctor! Are you all right? What's _happened_ to you?"

The smaller and ganglier form looked her way, apparently confused, and started to look around. "_I don't understand. I thought I was... where am I? Does anyone here speak Gallifreyan? We haven't started on languages yet_."

"_You_," the Master said slowly, unintelligible to any other than the small form on the floor of the boardroom, "_weren't supposed to do that. What are you doing?_"

"Doing_? I'm not doing anything! I just_..." he cut himself off to look around again, eyes wide. "_Where is this, even? That looks like blue sky out of those windows – is it _Earth?"

The Master made an odd strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"_You're not joking_."

The boy in front of him looked up, honestly confused.

"_Why would I? I can't remember getting here, so as the only other Gallifreyan here, you must have brought me somehow without my knowledge_." Apparently, something that he'd said made the boy, this younger Doctor, panic slightly. "_Sorry, didn't mean to imply_..." and then, more unfinished sentences. Except that this time, he trailed off, staring at the Master in suspicion, and something akin to shock. "_It can't be, can it...?_"

"Shut up! _Stop_ _it, just stop it!_"

"..._Koschei?_"

"_I thought I told you to shut up!_" The Master exploded, waving the laser in the air with his hand gestures, pointing it at the boy – thankfully, to the relief of Jack and Martha and, for the most part, many of the others watching – harmlessly. "_And don't call me that! Just – don't!_"

Jack tightened his grip on Martha's arm to get her attention, and forcefully whispered to her to _get out_. While she still could. Martha shook her head, stubborn to the last.

"I can't. Not with him like this. I just – can't. What if he needs me?"

"Then he can need you elsewhere. You're no good to him dead, Martha." Unspoken was the fact that Jack couldn't die. That he was willing to risk what Martha couldn't afford to give.

"No, Jack. Not this time. It's-"

They were cut off by footsteps, and looked up to find the face of the Master looming over them.

"Oh, and isn't this _sweet_. Martha Jones, willing to risk everything for her dear Doctor."

"_What-? What are you saying? I can't understand!_"

The words were meaningless, but the tone carried across the frustration and panic and confusion well enough, enough that she risked the Master's ire.

"Doctor!"

The Master straightened up and put on a mock-affected face.

"How _cute_. The companion trying to help the Doctor, and the Doctor can't even understand what she's _saying_. Let me give you a clue, everyone! That," he said, showing off by throwing his arms wide and then pointing at the confused figure swamped by the pinstriped suit and brown coat, "isn't the Doctor any more! Isn't. That. _Fun_."

Martha and Jack glared at him in hatred, seeing that somehow, he'd become even more unstable than before.

"I don't believe you. You did something to the Doctor – but he's still _the Doctor_."

"Oh, such _faith_. Miss Jones, everyone, say hello to Theta Sigma. _Theta Sigma, say 'hello' to everyone, why don't you? You wouldn't want to be strangers, now would you?_"

Theta Sigma looked around, this time cautiously, and at the people instead of the surroundings. "_Um... Hello?_"

Martha put a hand to her mouth in horror. Jack swore. Lucy stared.

The Master's expression went steadily more cold, and only he could feel his hearts beating so much faster than the drums in his head, from the adrenaline, yes, but also from fear and apprehension and a strange, unfamiliar sick feeling that started at the base of his stomach and ended in a pain in his throat and a faintly dizzying sensation in his head.

He called out for Martha and Jack to be secured. Then for the Doctor – Theta Sigma – to be taken away, not to the same place as the others, but to one of the Valiant's rooms.

And then, he left.

... ... ... ...

AN: Ooh. And for foreknowledge and ease of reading, I will say here that the Doctor was de-aged in appearance to around 14, although he may seem to look a little younger. In memories, he _is_ 14. All memories from then until his shrinking have been sealed away by his own mind, and as a part of the laser screwdriver accident. He's still in his Tenth incarnation, but hasn't realised this yet himself.

I will be adding more elements as time goes by. Oh, yes I will. Oh, and Katty? This is partly your fault.


End file.
